Gregor sat by the river, dipping his naked feet into the water. He knew he was supposed to keep watch, and he did—or at least, he didn't sleep.

"Something is on your mind, is it not?" Ares, beside him, asked. "Are you still concerned with what you said to Ripred and the Death Rider?"

"I can't believe they put me on the spot like that." Gregor scoffed. "Or that I . . . actually said to them that they're jerks." He shuddered.

"I doubt they will be cross. Not those two."

"You're probably right . . . still." Gregor shook his head. "But I wasn't even talking about that. I'm . . . worried about Luxa." His gaze trailed to where she lay with Hazard. "Ever since we left the scorpions, she always looks so grim, as though she blames herself for getting distracted. And then there is still that vow . . ." He glanced at Ares. "She's not going back to Regalia, is she?"

His bat shook his head. "She has pledged vengeance. She and the Death Rider."

Gregor's eyes searched for him in the dim light of the river and found him only a few steps away, washing Ripred's plate.

"They might as well team up and follow the mice together." Gregor groaned. "I bet she'll end up sending us others away to . . . to . . ."

"To follow them, with the Death Rider." Ares finished his sentence. "She might. Though, as great as her love for the nibblers is, her love for Hazard may be greater."

"Hopefully," Gregor sighed. "I mean, I get why she did it, but . . ."

"Gregor, you're supposed to keep watch." A voice cut him off, and he spun around to the Death Rider standing in front of him, washed plate in hand. "Ares needs rest if we are to continue tomorrow. He carries you, not the other way around."

"Or, most likely, I will be carrying you again," Ares remarked, and Gregor mustered a smile. The only reply the Death Rider gave was an exaggerated sigh.

A few heartbeats later, Gregor caved. "Alright, alright, you're right, as always." He gave Ares a concerned look. "He's right. You should sleep."

Ares nodded. "Have a good watch," he said, then moved to lie a little offside by a stalactite formation so as not to wake the rest of the already sleeping bats.

Gregor remained behind by the river. After a brief moment, he put his sandals back on and got to his feet to pace instead of sitting. His mind was restless, and now he didn't even have Ares anymore to distract him.

Half-tempted to ask the Death Rider whether he could switch watch with someone else, he absentmindedly wandered toward where he had last seen him. He had just begun circling the stalactite formation where Ares lay when he heard a different voice: "You were thinking about killing me, weren't you?"

Gregor froze in his tracks. This was unmistakably Ripred. Were they still not done bickering? He raised his foot to retreat; there was no way he would let them pull him into their little rivalry and prompt him to say more things he would instantly regret again.

"No, I was not," replied the Death Rider. "Now, sleep."

Gregor didn't want to eavesdrop, but . . . what was Ripred talking about—thinking about killing him? Never in a thousand years would Gregor believe that the Death Rider he knew would do something like that.

"Oh? What was that look in your eye then? A look as though you were thinking about killing me . . . and then deciding that you were through with that."

Gregor pressed himself against the rock. What was going on? When had . . . ?

Apparently, the Death Rider was just as surprised as Gregor. "What?" he asked, and although Gregor couldn't see them, he suddenly heard an utterly uncharacteristic emotion in the outcast's voice: nervousness.

"Oh, quit pretending, lad. I know very well that you held my life in your hands before; I've known it for much longer than you think. Do you believe my nose is good for nothing?" snarled Ripred, and Gregor realized he was holding his breath. "Seems like, despite my best hopes, you still haven't learned a thing . . . Henry."

CRASH!

Startled by the noise, Gregor narrowly avoided hitting his elbow on the rock.

"Oh, I was wondering whether that plate would survive this conversation," said Ripred with that familiar casual mockery.

"You . . . what?"

No, the Death Rider didn't just sound nervous anymore, Gregor processed numbly. His voice was filled with sheer horror.

"You . . . Did you just—?"

"Let's cut all this stammering short, shall we?" Ripred giggled. "Did I just call you by name? Yes. For how long have I known? Since—"

"You've known all along." All emotion had faded from the outcast's voice. "Since the very beginning. Since the jungle."

"Oh, so you aren't hopeless after all," said Ripred. "Of course, I knew. As I said, my nose isn't good for nothing. And did you, in all honesty, believe I could ever forget your smell?"

There was a pause that seemed to stretch on. Gregor rested his cheek against the cool stone, trying to process everything that he had just heard, to recall Ripred's words. The rat had . . . called the Death Rider out. He had called him—

"You knew," said the Death Rider. "You knew, but why did you not—"

"—tell on you?" Ripred cut him off. "Oh, I wanted to. At first. You know, there I was, in the jungle, minding my business, and then . . . a smell! One that I hadn't expected to grace me ever again, in this or another lifetime, but no . . . my nose didn't deceive me. There you were, so innocently chatting with the others—how'd you call yourselves—questers? But you know what the funny thing was?" Something shuffled, as though Ripred had risen. "The funny thing was—it wasn't the prince—the traitor—from last time, who sat there, as part of this group again . . . No, you," he paused. "You were someone very different."

Gregor heard every word the rat said, as though through a layer of mist.

"I . . . still don't understand why you—"

"Then let me finish!" A moment of silence elapsed, then Ripred resumed: "I saw you there. I saw they didn't recognize you, and . . . well, I got . . . curious, I guess. What would you do if I didn't give you away? So, I decided to wait. And I waited." Ripred yawned. "And you . . . how did I phrase it back then? You kept the surprises coming: New bond, new look, new name—new life. New . . ." Ripred paused for emphasis, tapping his claw on the stone. "New Henry."

It hadn't registered the first time, yet right then, the name hit Gregor like a brick wall: Henry.

Gripping the rock tightly, he realized that without it, his legs may have faltered.

Henry.

Henry?

There it was, the image of Boots tugging at his hair. You make me fly!

There was the way he looked at Luxa, their hands intertwined over their shared regalia. There they were, side by side, chanting for him to do the Hokey Pokey. There was he . . . throwing her in the air for the photo.

There was he . . . Gregor saw him clear as light before his inner eye—the face that he vaguely remembered yet had somehow never recognized. And for the first time in two years, he saw . . . Henry.

The outcast . . . no, Henry! Henry scoffed. "You kept my identity . . . out of boredom?"

"Be glad I kept it at all," said Ripred. "But, you know, there was something else too."

"What?"

"What?" aped Ripred. "Oh, I don't know, just . . . Just, you have to understand that, for as difficult as it was to believe that you hadn't died that day, that you lived all along—save that eye, maybe." He giggled. "In any case, lad, and that's a fact—exile either breaks you or makes you. What was even more difficult to believe was that you—you—would turn out one of the latter."

After a brief pause, the outcast . . . Henry scoffed. "You . . . were impressed by me? Oh, oh! I must make note of that on the list of my greatest achievements at once." He laughed, but it sounded almost hysterical. He laughed, and . . . yes. Gregor squinted tightly. Now that he had just the voice, now that he focused, he heard it. That voice . . . He had heard it before.

I have no plans to die.

"Yes, yes." Ripred yawned again. "But before you do that, you might want to check on that eavesdropper behind the rocks."

Gregor's heart stopped.

"What?!"

Before Gregor could move a muscle, he was grabbed by the fabric of his shirt and dragged out into the open. Then he was lifted by his collar and found himself face-to-face with—

His first thought was that he was older. If Gregor were to guess, he would have said more than . . . what, eighteen? Strands of tousled hair that now reached the middle of his back fell across his face, which was leaner, harder . . . entirely devoid of any former roundness and innocence. His skin was etched with countless scars, and . . . of course, the eyepatch. But now that he had the image of Henry's face fresh in mind—Henry with Boots, back in the bat's land, Henry with Luxa, with the torch on his head, Henry, who had . . . had jokingly warned him that Luxa planned to poison him.

Gregor could only stare. Not because of what Ripred had said or what he had responded . . . Because he didn't need words anymore. He saw it for himself now.

He . . . Henry held Gregor's gaze for a moment longer with an almost frightening severity, then he whipped back around to Ripred. "You knew he was there," he said. "You knew all along, and you didn't say anything until . . ." The hand that still held Gregor trembled.

"Perhaps I did," snickered Ripred. "And perhaps that is what you get for picking fights with me."

"You . . . I will kill you," hissed Henry. "I will set out to kill you, and this time I will succeed!" Henry released him, and Gregor barely managed to not topple.

When he next looked up, Henry was already in front of Ripred. "You . . ." He inhaled, and a moment elapsed before all his aggression drained. Henry staggered a step forward, blowing out a deep breath. "You . . . ruined everything. I have to go! Now! Before . . . It is over." Henry flung his arms in the air and then buried his face in his hands. He emanated so much despair that Gregor couldn't help but feel sympathy. "It's over," he repeated. "This is exactly why I hesitated to babysit you all again. Now, I must leave and never return, because when Luxa finds out, she will . . . And Ares, and Howard, and . . . shit!"

He whipped away from Ripred, his hand flying up to mess his already disheveled hair. Just when he had turned his back on the rat, Ripred reclined, and Gregor caught sight of his tail flying toward Henry's head.

Automatically, Gregor assumed that Henry was down, but then he veered and swatted the tail away with his flat palm. "Wish you to fight me?!" he spat. "I shall fight you here and now, if that is what you want!"

Ripred sat there for a moment, actually stunned. "Maybe another time," he snarled, and Gregor could have sworn he caught something like a satisfied glimmer in his yellow eyes. "But now, before we rush anything—especially departures—you should maybe let the boy over there confirm that he's actually going to tell on you."

Henry whipped back to Gregor, causing him to startle once more. Gregor crossed his arms and took a deep breath, struggling for words. His gaze wandered back and forth between Ripred and Henry, trying to fathom that it was them and how much they reminded him of each other now. That it was Henry, whom he had called Ripred's rival in his head earlier.

Gregor had just opened his mouth, still not entirely sure what he would say, but Henry spoke first: "What is there to wait for?" he exclaimed. "Of course he'll tell! He is as enamored with Luxa as Nike is with Thanatos. He will never keep a secret from her! No less a secret like this!"

Ripred instantly broke into hysteric giggles, and Gregor's face flushed. What was he talking about—enamored with Luxa? Gregor liked her, but . . . His date excuse flashed in his mind, and he tensed. Sure, he liked her as a friend, but . . . Feeling a wave of frustration, he pushed down his confused emotions. This wasn't the time. This was the time for . . .

"You," he said, doing his best to hold Henry's iron gaze. ". . . Henry?" It was harder to say the name than he had thought. Countless questions spun through his mind, yet among them, one truth materialized: Gregor had a decision to make, and that decision would mean everything to Henry. Henry! The last time he had seen Henry had been two years ago, falling off a cliff, screaming for Ares . . . no?

"Me—Henry," repeated the Death Rider sourly. "If you all have no objections, may we skip the obligatory disbelief about this fact and get to the matter of its consequences?"

"D-Disbelief?" Gregor stammered, although he knew exactly what Henry meant.

"Regarding how difficult it must be to believe that a spoiled, delusional traitor such as he may have become the great Death Rider!" Ripred chuckled.

Henry swung the back of his hand toward Ripred's face, and the rat barely dodged. Before the outcast could address Gregor again, he surprised everyone—most of all himself—by speaking first: "I won't tell them," he said and barely believed it. Man! Gregor stared up at Henry, looking as baffled as he himself felt. What was he saying? "I . . ." He cleared his throat, desperately searching for the correct words. "You swore a vow. A vow to avenge the mice. With Luxa. And she . . . we . . ." He cleared his throat again, cursing his stammering. "We could use an ally like you, like the Death Rider, if there really is going to be war. And if I tell them . . . If I tell Luxa, you can't fulfill your vow. The other mice might die, like the ones in the pit." Gregor finally met Henry's gaze. "And also, it's not right for me to do this to you after all that you've done for us."

The look Henry gave him was one of utter disbelief. "What mean you, "it's not right"?" he asked. "You have no reason to do me a favor, not even to sympathize with me. To you, "Henry" should be no more than the traitor who nearly caused your death two years ago—all of yours."

Gregor felt a lump in his throat. That was exactly what Henry had been . . . so far. But Henry was not, he thought, staring up at him and trying to make his brain believe it. Henry was . . . Gregor remembered Henry the traitor, but suddenly he also thought of Henry, as Luxa wanted to remember him. His conversation with her by the lake came to mind, and his eyes widened.

"Wait!" he called. "You're Henry! You heard me and Luxa when we . . . Back at the lake!" He recalled the Death Rider's iron face when he had told them to leave it be. "You heard us when we—"

"I did." Henry's face now showed traces of the same iron.

"I mean . . ." stammered Gregor. "I mean, I said back then that I didn't know Henry . . . you, very well. I had never gotten the chance to get to know him . . . you." Gregor took a deep breath, thinking his next words through carefully. "You're wrong," he said with conviction. "You heard what I said, so you know that I actually have all the reasons to do you a favor. Because . . . the only Henry I know—the only Henry I ever really got to know—is you. The . . . Death Rider."

A silent moment went by, then Henry's mouth snapped shut without another word. And no matter how much he tried, Gregor could not unsee the sheer disbelief in his eye for a long while.

***

An hour might have gone by, but Gregor could still not keep himself from staring over at the Death . . . at Henry. Henry . . . the Death Rider. He thought it would take a while before his brain would entirely comprehend that they were supposed to be the same person.

He felt bad about it, but Gregor still found it impossible to reconcile the image of Henry from two years ago—the arrogant, spoiled bully who had carelessly thrown his baby sister off a cliff, who hadn't even known how to make himself a sandwich—with that of the courageous, knowledgeable outcast he called friend and guide.

"I would say perhaps we shouldn't stare so apparently, yet I cannot help myself either," said Ares beside him.

This whole time, Ares had been right there; Gregor had almost tripped over him after Henry had told him to go back to his watch. So, of course, he had heard it all. Bats had a better sense of hearing than humans, but even a human would have heard from that distance. Gregor thought Henry was lucky that the rest of the questers were long asleep.

He glanced over at him again, musing that they would have to tell him that Ares knew tomorrow.

"I . . . cannot believe I have not seen it. I should have seen it; should I not have?" repeated Ares over and over.

"I mean, none of us did."

"But I have known him my whole life!" lamented Ares. "At least I should have . . . suspected something. I never suspected anything."

"Honestly, I don't blame you," said Gregor. "I mean, I know now, but I don't think I really believe it yet." For a while, they sat in silence. "Hey, are you okay?" asked Gregor after a while, and the moment the words slipped out, he regretted them. Of course he wasn't okay; Henry was alive, and Ares had probably not even gotten over his death yet. Suddenly, Gregor regretted that he had never asked about how Ares was coping with the whole thing. Whether it still haunted him. "Hey, I'm sorry."

"What for?" asked Ares. "That Henry lives?"

"No!" exclaimed Gregor, scooting back and forth. "I'm just . . . Are you happy? That he's alive?"

"I never wished death on Henry. And yet I believed not in his life," said Ares, rising a little. "Think you this means a part of me did?"

"No!" shouted Gregor again. "I mean, I didn't think that you wanted him dead. I think . . . I'm sorry that I never asked how you were handling it. It must have been awful. That choice. I'm sorry you had to even make it."

"On one hand, my conviction was unwavering, and yet, on the other hand, a whisper of doubt has always lingered in me. Had I chosen differently, would I now be consumed by sorrow, regardless?" Ares stared at the floor. "I wish I would have never had to make it either."

Gregor searched for Henry with his eyes again and spotted him leaning on the wall; Thanatos sat by his side.

"But hey, he's alive, right?" said Gregor. "So you're not responsible for any deaths. And I'm sure he's not . . . mad at you either. He doesn't seem to be. Didn't he ride with you?"

"It was awkward," mumbled Ares. "I suppose I now know why. But . . . it may be as you say. I have never sensed any hostility from him. I do not want there to be hostility between us." Ares flapped his wings crossly. "I merely . . . I feel confusion and anger at myself for not seeing the truth. But then again . . ." He followed Gregor's gaze. "You are also right when you say that this should not be so surprising. He," Ares indicated the Death Rider with his ear, "is not really Henry. Not the Henry I knew," he added when Gregor frowned. "Unrecognizably far from the Henry I knew. Then again . . . maybe not that far."

As confusing as it sounded, Gregor thought Ares had managed to put his own tangle of strange emotions into words perfectly. He had compared the Death Rider to Henry multiple times. They had things in common—their showy demeanor, their attitude, and their confidence. Gregor recalled his first impression of the Death Rider, back on the quest to kill the Bane, and how he had compared him to the jock characters in teen movies and to the royal cousins on their first quest.

That was what Henry had been. Henry the . . . just Henry. But Henry was no longer just Henry. And hadn't Gregor himself discounted the comparison even then, for the sake of all their differences?

Henry was . . . still the flamboyant show-off with his over-the-top confidence and energy. But he was also the great outcast warrior who had sacrificed his eye for Luxa and led them through the Vineyard of Eyes. Who had killed Longclaw and saved Stellovet. Who had . . . willingly taken over chores, who had guided and protected them with all his invaluable expertise. Who had . . . saved Twitchtip and Gregor himself from the whirlpool.

"I mean . . ." Gregor cleared his throat. "He's lived out here for . . . what, two years now? I guess it . . . changed him." Exile either makes you or breaks you, Ripred's words rang in his ear, and he shuddered. "Maybe . . ." He looked back at Henry. "Maybe he . . . needed this." Gregor felt bad for saying someone—anyone—deserved to live as an outcast, but he could also not deny that it seemed to have indeed . . . "made" Henry.

"Perhaps," said Ares, still uncertain. "Is it horrible of me to say that it surprises me greatly that Henry . . . survived out here? That he thrived?"

"Ripred said that too," replied Gregor. "I guess we all underestimated him."

"We have," admitted Ares. "Even I. My eyes see that it is his face now, but my head still refuses to believe it truly is he. But Gregor," Ares turned to face him, "why did you so quickly promise to keep this from the others?"

Gregor averted his eyes. "Sorry that I didn't ask you. I just . . . you heard what I said, didn't you?" He couldn't keep his eyes away from Henry, who now rested his head on his knees, with Thanatos speaking to him. "I just can't be mad at him or anything," said Gregor. "I know that he's Henry and that he betrayed us, but I can't see or treat him any differently from the way I did two hours ago. He's . . . the Death Rider." Gregor looked back at Ares. "Isn't he?"

"He—" Ares twitched. "He is, but can we . . . simply forget what he did two years ago? Or should we? Has he repented enough?"

"Man!" Gregor groaned. "I wish I would have never listened to that stupid conversation!"

***

Gregor had no real feel for the passage of time when he was in the Underland. He and Ares spent his remaining watch side by side; despite having been told to rest, Ares did not leave Gregor's side anymore. And despite their mutual silence, Gregor found the knowledge to have him here comforting.

Before long, Gregor turned away from Henry, choosing instead to dangle his feet back into the cool water. Thoughts swirled in his mind about how to console Ares and ask how he had been coping with Henry's—well, presumed—death. If there was anything he could do or if Ares needed anything. "Hey," he said finally. "Do you maybe . . . I don't know, want to talk to him or something?"

But instead of replying, Ares' head shot up in alertness. Gregor spun around so quickly that he sent a spray of water onto the slick, black floor. He almost tumbled backward into the river when he was met with the ghastly white face of Thanatos.

Gregor hadn't seen him so close up in a long time, and when he took him in now, he noticed an odd contraption around Thanatos' neck. Was that what Henry had used to rotate earlier? Before he could ask, Thanatos spoke first: "So," he said, looking back and forth between Gregor and Ares, "you both know?"

The two exchanged looks, and Gregor nodded.

Thanatos groaned. "Alright. Alright . . . Oh, why did it have to come to this?" he mumbled to himself. Only a split second later, he recomposed, fixating his hard amber gaze on the two. "I am not here to hear excuses. I am here for one purpose, and one alone: You have promised to him that you shall not disclose this to anyone, yes?"

Gregor nodded again, too stunned to speak.

"So, my purpose here is to ensure you understand the significance of keeping this promise," said Thanatos.

Gregor reflexively shook his head. "I'm not planning to—"

"You better not be." Thanatos cut him off. "Because if you do not, I make my own promise to you: You will dearly regret it. Any pain he endures due to your carelessness with your words will be met with severe repercussions. Are we clear?"

"Clear!" Gregor automatically blurted out at the sight of the enormous outcast bat hovering over them with menacingly spread wings. His stance and the fierce glimmer in his eyes made it clear that he was not messing around, yet as Gregor looked more closely, he noticed that he was trembling ever so slightly.

"You have nothing to fear from us," said Ares. "We will not reveal him."

"We have nothing to fear from you, indeed!" hissed Thanatos. "There is nothing whatsoever that warrants our . . . his fear. He will not be afraid!"

Gregor stole a glimpse behind Thanatos at the sunken shape of Henry on the floor, curled together against the wall, his face concealed in his crossed arms. "We won't tell," he assured. "We really won't. T-Tell him that I'm sorry I was there. I didn't mean to—I mean—" Gregor broke off, stammering.

Upon those words, Thanatos eased a little for the first time. "I will tell him," he mumbled, suddenly sounding a hundred years old.

"What . . . meant you, "There is nothing that warrants his fear from us"?" asked Ares suddenly.

"That is none of your business!" hissed Thanatos, then sighed. "It is just that . . . Things are not easy for him when it comes to reconciling his old with his new self. He sees not that he is both . . ." He said that last part as though he had only just realized it. "He . . . He has more fears than he or I would like for him to have, is my point," said Thanatos curtly. "I shall not allow for more fears to mount."

"You know his fears very well," mumbled Ares.

"We are bonds," replied Thanatos simply, and even Gregor put together that the word, when he said it like this, meant something else than if Ares had said it two years ago. Ares shifted his gaze away, seemingly acknowledging this too.

When he sensed no resistance or apprehension from either of them, Thanatos drew in his wings, and suddenly he looked very tired. "I cannot allow him to suffer because of this," he mumbled. "Not anymore. No more fears, no more suffering. I . . . will not allow it."

Gregor stared at the enormous outcast bat and was suddenly, beyond a doubt, certain that he was seeing here yet another instinctive act of protection on behalf of one's bond. "I don't want him to be upset because of this either," he mumbled. "I . . . Part of why I promised to keep quiet was because I didn't want to cause him any problems."

Thanatos cast him an astonished look. "Really?"

"I may not . . . have cared for him the way you do," said Ares hesitantly, "but I never wished to cause him any problems either. I am . . ." He hesitated. "I know not if I have the right to say this, if you or he even want to hear, but . . . I am glad that he found you."

Momentarily, Thanatos sat there, stunned. "That will mean a lot to him," he said eventually. "If you fear that he harbors any resentment toward you, rest easy. He has never spoken of such a thing; on the contrary, I have heard from him regret, and I have heard from him that he would have done the same in your stead."

"Regret?" Ares' head shot up, and he nervously flapped his wings. "I . . . I cannot . . . He would . . . You mean, Henry? Henry and . . . regret?"

"Much regret," concurred Thanatos. "It came with understanding—and he understands everything now. But perhaps the two of you should speak about this yourselves."

Ares shook his head. "I mean . . . perhaps we should eventually. But I don't think I can speak to him yet, not alone. Is that—" He scooted back and forth. "May I have . . . a little more time to process all this?"

Thanatos hesitated for no longer than a split second. "Is that so?" he asked. "You would not speak to him even if he would speak to you?"

"I'm not . . . ready," mumbled Ares. "Eventually I will be. It is not as though I—"

"Oh, I have understood," said Thanatos with an undertone that Gregor couldn't quite place—something between acknowledgment and dry judgment. "I shall relay this to him—to Henry." He emphasized the name almost defiantly.

"Henry . . ." repeated Ares. "Henry feels . . . regret." It was evident that he still grappled with that idea.

"Henry feels regret," repeated Thanatos with almost frightening adamancy. "Because Henry has fallen and labored through countless trials to find himself where he is now."

"Has he . . ." Ares hesitated. "Has he really suffered . . . that much?"

"He has suffered far more than any of you can imagine," said Thanatos. "And yet he is here now. Despite it all, he is here, greater than he has ever been." Gregor heard a significant amount of pride shine through in Thanatos' voice.

He recalled the way they had concluded something had changed about him since they had reunited back at the Fount. Something grave, that had also strengthened him. And Thanatos was right—Henry indeed seemed stronger than ever.

Gregor looked back at him lying there, with his legs pulled to his chest, and felt uneasy himself. Maybe it was because he was so strong now, he thought. Because the Death Rider was the fearless protector, the veteran. That's why he is the veteran, Gregor thought. But now, the veteran lay curled into a ball on the floor. The sight evoked a wave of that same feeling that had overcome him when they had found Ripred in the pit, discovering that he wasn't invincible.

Maybe I should talk to him too, wondered Gregor. Maybe I should ask him what happened in person. Now more than ever, Gregor realized that everything truly was a shade of gray. "I'm really sorry," he said to Thanatos. "About everything."

"You needn't be sorry," replied Thanatos, to his surprise. "All that suffering . . . Henry calls each trial, each hardship, and each mistake an opportunity. A lesson. Henry calls "strength" what allows us to rise from the ashes of our failures." He laughed softly, averting his eyes. "The greatest suffering may be transformed into the greatest opportunity, the greatest gain . . . so I have learned from him."

Gregor allowed the words to sink in, finding it hard to shut his agape-standing mouth. He had known that the Death Rider . . . that Henry was an optimist, but . . . "That's really amazing," he mumbled.

"It is mind-boggling," concurred Thanatos. "And yet it is true. So he has proven, time and time again."

Gregor nodded absent-mindedly, even though he had never viewed it that way before. Yet the more he thought about it, the more it seemed to make sense. Difficult situations forced you out of your comfort zone, compelling you to adapt and learn. What had been his worst experience so far?

Gregor's thoughts drifted back to the few impressions he recalled from shortly after his dad had disappeared. Yet, had he not disappeared . . . Gregor swallowed hard. Had his dad never disappeared, he would most likely never have ended up in the Underland.

And despite the hardships of each quest, when he thought about it from this angle, he realized that they had all had their benefits too: The first quest had brought his dad back. On the second one, he had made new friends in Howard and Twitchtip, and—his gaze flew to him—Henry too. Gregor would never forget his and Thanatos' first appearance on that boat.

The third quest had brought Luxa back, and it had led to them meeting Hamnet and Hazard. He looked over at Luxa, who was sound asleep, embracing her younger cousin. Her life would be so much emptier if she had never met Hazard.

The fourth quest had perhaps brought about the most significant changes: not only had they prevented Longclaw from crowning himself king, but they had also pushed for Dalia's voice to be heard. To Gregor, it was natural that everyone was equal, yet this had been a major step forward for the Underlanders, especially those at the Fount.

And now . . . his gaze latched onto Cartesian, and a shiver ran down his spine. With how much suffering this fifth quest had already brought, what sort of gain would they get out of it this time?

"Everything has been said?" asked Thanatos into the heavy silence.

"Everything," concurred Ares. "I will . . . when I am ready, I will speak to him, I promise."

"Very well. Then, attend to your watch." With that, Thanatos vanished before Gregor could tell him anything about his conclusions regarding hardships and quests.

Well, maybe . . . He looked back at Henry, only to see Thanatos land beside him and immediately receive a tight embrace. Maybe he should tell Henry about that himself one day.